Late Night Thoughts
by SpecialAgentZiva
Summary: For some reason I'm writing this. I'm not exactly sure why. It's about 11:00 now, and I sure as hell can't sleep. Can't really eat, either, though I did miss dinner. Sherlock's left another head in the fridge.
1. The Mind of Sherlock

**A/N: Well, I know there's a few of these, but it seemed interesting to try and write from John Watson's point of view. As in, his blog. I hope you enjoy this, there will be more blog entries to come. Hopefully. c:**

**I don't own Sherlock. Not at all.**

Fired the psychiatrist. I don't really need one now. And yet I'm writing this. I'm not exactly sure why. She said writing about things that happened would help, but really, nothing happened to me before. I guess everything happens to me now.

It's about 11:00 now, and I sure as hell can't sleep. Can't really eat, either, though I did miss dinner. Sherlock's left another head in the fridge. I really think we need another fridge of some sort, at least a bar fridge, for him to store his experiments. As brilliant as that man is, he seems to have no regard for my eating habits. I can't eat with a head staring at me, and there's no room in the fridge for any real food anyway. I would order something, but it's really too late for most places and I'm not sure I want to drive. I guess I'll just go hungry.

We've just finished another case. This is one of the few that I can't even think of naming. I'd say something like "Case In Point" because it dealt with a hostage at gunpoint, but the gun had been fake anyway. It was an open and shut case, one that I'm sure Sherlock would have been bored of if it wasn't for the traps the hostage-taker put between us and himself. It's dangerous if he gets bored.

Lately he's been assaulting the wall again, wondering when we'll get something worthwhile. I don't think the poor wall can take any more damage. Mrs. Hudson is definitely getting upset over it. A few bullet holes has turned into a gaping hole, which we've both been informed we need to pay for. Great. I'm still more than a little unemployed, and my pension really isn't going to pay for that. Sherlock doesn't make that much money himself, he only accepts what I accept for him.

Is it bad that I'm starting to feel the same way? About cases, I mean. Before I met him, I was just a citizen of London, and afterwards, I've seen through everything I looked at before. I'm slowly learning from him - yes, I'll admit that it's a rather slow process - but on the way I'm finding myself equally bored. It's not decent, as Mrs. Hudson says, but there's not much for someone like me to do on other days. I think I'm even more slowly starting to see into the mind of Sherlock. And I'm more than a tiny bit afraid of what I'll find there.

He's a brilliant man, of course. Far from the amateur I thought he had been. But there are parts of him I would never want to be like. He says he is uncaring, insensitive, and sometimes, I believe him. There's other times that I could never believe him, like the day in the pool when he'd been so stricken at the bombs strapped on me. I can remember all too well the earnest in which he forced them off me and threw the jacket across the floor. And then there's his ability to know someone before they even know him. Know things that they might not willingly tell him. He knew I was a military doctor from Afghanistan from just about the moment I'd met him. Of course, I suppose I would have told him this eventually, but my military service record is not something I would have offered to a near stranger. I probably would not have told him that my limp had come from being shot, either. Not right away.

I couldn't bare to see everything about everyone. He does say it must be boring in my mind, in the minds of everyone else, but he can be arrogant that way. It's one of those things one must put up with when living with Sherlock Holmes. I don't mind him, of course, you grow accustomed to his mannerisms. His boredom, his frustration, his ways of thinking - it's all part of getting to know the man.

I am slowly getting tired, and I suppose it's about time that I go upstairs to bed. I should have done so long ago. Even Sherlock, who I thought never sleeps, is asleep. But I suppose I should end this on something important. My important statement is simple:

Despite everything, I have come to realize that Sherlock is a great man, and a friend anyone would ask for. He will probably read this in the morning and wonder why I've called him arrogant, but I hope he realizes that his odd mannerisms and personality don't stop me from saying this again: Sherlock is a great man.

He's also asleep right now. I'm not sure which is more surprising to all of those who read this.

JW

(p.s. And now, look, I've started signing my name like him too. This is just spectacular. Or maybe it's the exhaustion talking. Either way, Watson out.)


	2. Sent Texts

**A/N: Another chapter, yay! Yes, I'm aware that this blog wasn't written during "Late Night" as the title says, but whatever. x) Enjoy, please!**

**I don't own Sherlock.**

Looked through my phone this morning and I suppose Sherlock's found something to interest him again, because there's a text. I shouldn't be surprised. He likes to take my phone when I'm not paying attention. Most of the other times he'll ask for it, but if it's of some importance and he doesn't want to waste time, he has been known just to take it. I suppose that's fine as well because half of the time I'm asleep when he doesn't ask. Is this considered burglary, I wonder? Stealing from a sleeping man?

Of course, I'd never report him, for he never really steals it. I just wake up to find there's no phone or someone's sent a text - yes, I check my sent texts in the morning. You learn to do this after living with him for a while. Just in case he decides to text another murderer, as he had me do just after I met him, and has done quite a few times since. Most times he's sent a text to the police. Oh, he does love to play with them. Anything to keep him from getting bored.

You'd think he'd delete the messages he sends, but he doesn't bother. Most of the texts he sends are vague anyway. Like the first one he sent from my phone, something about arresting the brother if he owned a green ladder. It made no sense to me and still doesn't. He doesn't like to share old cases unless they're related or he really is bored enough to talk about them. That one, it seems, was not the most interesting, because he doesn't speak of it.

I wonder what his reaction would be if I did the same to him. Of course, his own number would be recognized by most people. The great Sherlock Holmes. Everyone knows who he is, and many people know his number. Especially the criminals. I'm surprised they don't know my number by now as well, considering how often he uses my phone, but people are starting to know my name.

I suppose word gets around when you're walking with someone like Sherlock. Word gets around rather slowly, but it does get around. No one comes to me for help the way they go to Sherlock - unless they're trying to convince me to convince him of something - but I've had more than a few people greet me on the street. Complete strangers, no less. I can't help but wonder how long it will take for my sister to learn of my new reputation. I wouldn't doubt that she's heard of Sherlock. When she's sober (which isn't often) she seems interested in things like this. Mysteries and how to solve them.

Oh, she would love him, because his brain is a roadmap. It's a bit frustrating, I suppose. She's never paid me too much mind, though she might just now. We've never been close, Harry and I, for many reasons. Drinking is one of those many. She hated that I went to Afghanistan and threatened to disown me (if it's even possible to disown your brother). Afterward, of course, she was quite a bit more kindly, considering I'd been shot. She is half the reason I got to know Sherlock Holmes.

My phone, of course. He read me from my phone and somehow I find that moment crucial. If he'd learned something to dislike, perhaps I would have never been living in this flat with him. As odd as it is living here, there's always something new to see when I get home from wherever I happen to be that day. Not all times do I look forward to coming home - specifically on days when he's, say, shot the wall again.

Thankfully he's not doing that now, but I'm starting to think we need to find something for him to do other than shoot the walls and play his violin. When he's not working cases, I mean. I've considered trying to convince him to write a blog, but, knowing him, he'd tell me it would be useless. The man doesn't even care, nor does he ever really remember, that the Earth goes around the sun. I doubt he'd find it useful to write anything here. Still, it might be worth the effort to try. Perhaps I'll convince him to write, just once, and he'll get hooked on it.

…Okay, that's a shot in the dark. And, unlike Sherlock, my shots in the dark often miss, so maybe I'm not really being honest with myself here. He won't get hooked on this. But I do have the sneaking suspicion that, after reading this, he may just write something to spite me. On the case that he does, I'm sure it will be interesting at least. Preferably it won't be a rant on how awful it is that I bother forcing my opinions on the world, or whatever it was that he said before.

Either way, I have a lunch date with Sarah soon and may as well get running. I believe I'll leave my phone here for once, on the chance that Sherlock needs it. With my luck, he'll have read this within five minutes of me leaving, and hopefully leaving the phone will stop any bad feelings he might get from reading this.

On the case that he gets bored of the wall and shoots me eventually, allow me to simply remind all of you that the Earth goes around the sun.

JW


	3. Tick, Tick, Tick

**A/N: This is the shortest chapter so far, but definitely the most fun to write. :) I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I really need to slow down, but my mind is running in overdrive, and I can't stop writing right now. Is that bad? Maybe it's just inspiration finally hitting me.**

**Anyway, I don't own Sherlock.**

Arrest brother if brother has green ladder.

That's what the first text said, of course. I'm sure many of you are familiar with the Hartwood case, where Alexander Hartwood died of an assault from a "tall man dressed in black", as his brother had claimed. Of course, this was not the case. All injuries inflicted were post-mortem, save for the wound that killed him. Green paint chipping were found on the man's skull where it had been hit with a large object, originally thought to be a large, metal bat. Of course the police department was wrong in their assumption that it was a bat. The object was far larger and heavier than that, and the grooves in the man's head suggested something like a ladder. Thus, if the brother has a green ladder, arrest him

SH

_[edited at 8:00am]_

I'm surprised he wrote here. Honestly, I haven't spoken a word about it to him. He might just have read this - well, of course he did, or he wouldn't have explained the death of Hartwood. I might just have been wrong, though, because it seemed interesting enough for him to explain. Or maybe I was actually right, that he wrote completely out of spite.

I'll add more to this later as I have to run to the grocery store. Sherlock doesn't feel like going. It's so like him.

JW

_[edited at 8:30am]_

Dr. Watson should really put a stronger password on this. I could guess it in moments, even after he changed it this morning.

Of course I haven't bothered to be the one to run to the store. I haven't got the time to wait in long line-ups to get to the annoying machines. I've been waiting for Lestrade to finally crack and let me in on the case he's just received. It can't be long now. I must be ready to move at any time. Of course, so should John, but he's more expendable than I when it comes to things like this.

Hmm. The clock is slowly ticking and I've neither seen John come back nor heard from Lestrade. This is absolutely tedious. Honestly, the world needs more murderers. Not that I would be one, but at the very least a puzzle would be nice about now. A real challenge, not the child's play they call puzzles you find in stores.

Tick, tick, tick…

SH

_[edited at 10:00am]_

How did he…?

No, I'm not really even going to ask. Of course he knows my password. What, did he read it in the way I moved? Find it in my eyes? Honestly, some days I wished he didn't know so much. I'd change my password again but there's no real use. At least he's writing here, even though it's my blog and he's doing it out of spite and boredom. This should keep Lestrade and others interested for a while anyway.

At least he's not shooting walls. And no, Sherlock, that wasn't a suggestion. Don't raise a gun at the wall. At least not until we get the hole fixed, because Mrs. Hudson's not exactly happy about the damage you keep doing out of boredom.

Maybe for now I'll get a bit of peace. I haven't seen Sherlock in a while. I'd imagine he's off somewhere with Lestrade and others. Too bad he hasn't brought me along this time. Surely he will later, even if he is annoyed at me.

I'm going to try and catch up on sleep until he gets back. Hopefully he won't steal my laptop.

JW

_[edited at 12:00pm]_

Am I really that predictable? Of course your laptop is in my hands, I don't want to use my own right now, and you left your blog window up. I hope you get up sometime soon. Really, John, we've got a case that I'm sure you'd be interested in, and you're simply sleeping. My mind is running a million kilometres an hour. I doubt I could sleep if I tried… or took five sleeping pills.

Hmm. That sounds like an interesting experiment to try sometime. In the mean time, please wake up. Any time. Soon would be nice.

SH

_[edited at 3:00pm]_

I can't believe him.

JW


	4. What Comes Next

**A/N: I have to thank those of you who've reviewed so far. :) Special thanks to EejitCat for directing me to the Sherlock website, I'd never actually seen it before and it's really quite interesting. Anyway, this is the fourth chapter. Enjoy!**

**I don't own Sherlock. It's too bad though.**

I hope you were all sufficiently entertained by John's last blog post.

SH

_[edited at 9:00pm]_

Honestly, Sherlock, haven't you heard? Sarcasm is the last refuge of a shallow mind.

So, today has been pretty interesting, I suppose. We actually had part of a day off. Which you would think would be great, but not always. I made sure to get clear of the house early in the morning, in case Sherlock would decide to blow up the house. I'd rather not be there when he does that. I'm pretty sure he will eventually, even if he hasn't yet. I was actually quite surprised to come home and find that most of the house was still intact. This begs the question: what did he do all day?

Anyway, I met up with some old friends at a bar across town. Learned some interesting things, though they seemed to know my new reputation right away. I must be the only one that's not married and has no kids, though. In some ways it's great, in others… well, at least I have Sarah. And Sherlock, considering how much of a child he can be.

That was the part of the day we had off. It wasn't much. A few hours at best in a relatively deserted pub. I don't think I really had more than two drinks before I got another text from Sherlock. He's finally let me in on the new case. I have a feeling he got irritated and just didn't want me to be part of it right away. Don't you see what I told you? He's like a child.

A murder just out of town. At first I wasn't sure why it caught Sherlock's attention. He only likes the challenging case, the ones that put his skills to the test. But that's not the point. There's something rather odd about this murder. The murderer left us a note. He seemed to know it would intrigue Sherlock…

The note said "YOU SOLVED THE GREEN LADDER. YOU SURVIVED THE GAME. THIS IS WHAT COMES NEXT, SHERLOCK."

Well, I suppose it's not decent to say it, but I was a bit annoyed that whoever it was skipped over me. At the same time it's reassuring because… well, the last time I was put in Sherlock's shoes wasn't so great. Being held hostage with Sarah? Definitely not something I'd like to do over again. So I suppose it's really a good thing that the criminals prefer him over me.

Surprisingly, we haven't gotten far with this yet. Sherlock seems more interested in who wrote the note than the case itself. He's sitting downstairs right now, playing his violin, and every once and a while he will stop and say, "What comes next? Think!". I wish I could help him out there but I've no doubt that he's already thought of all my theories. More murders to come? Is this a direct death threat? Hmm. If that's the case, I don't think he's afraid at all. That's just the way he is. Playing with his life like no one would care if he died.

Anyway, I think he's really leaving most of the detective work to Scotland Yard for once. Knowing him, he probably already has each and every detail that led to the murder mapped out in his head, he's just waiting for the rest of us to connect the dots for ourselves. I wish he'd stop being so loud when he questions himself, though. It's a wonder I haven't gone deaf from the noise he makes. Gunshots, violins, and such.

Actually, violin is starting to look like a good hobby. An instrument of my own to think. Or something. This is actually helping me, if that makes sense, but I really do think I need a hobby if not a job. It's too bad I can barely get any sleep around here. If Sherlock would be reliably quiet for some amount of time, maybe I'd be able to sleep and actually do a job well. And… well, keep the job that I get in the first place.

Still, I'd hate to admit it to him, but I'd rather be solving crimes and learning what how his mind works than spending time in a hospital. Hospitals here aren't the same in Afghanistan. Of course, I hardly miss the stress and long hours and sadness that came with a badly wounded soldier… but, as Mycroft said to me, when I walk with Sherlock, I… well, I guess I do see the battlefield. It's more interesting than civilian life.

Alright, so, I'm rambling. I picked that up already. There really isn't much to say today except that I'm exhausted and want to solve this case soon.

JW

_[edited at 12:00am]_

Of course I've solved the case, John. It's simple. Open your eyes and observe.

SH


	5. Trouble Is Spelled Maximilian

**A/N: I'm actually having a lot of fun writing this. :) I hope you all are enjoying reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it.**

**I don't own Sherlock, but I can pretend to!**

As odd as it might sound, there's a new resident in 221B Baker Street.

You can probably imagine my surprise when I came home to find Sherlock and this new resident, sitting together on the couch quite comfortably. I'd never really thought of him as the type to do such a thing, but apparently he did, because he looked at me right away with that arrogant grin of his. And, without missing a beat, he said, "John, this is Maximilian. Come say hello."

Of course I did, but I was still confused. The resident in question was a rather large yellow lab that sat with his head in Sherlock's lap. Why would he bring a dog home? I'd known him to do crazy things, but this was just odd for him. At least until he explained it to me. Max isn't a permanent resident, apparently, but he will be staying with us until Sherlock's done with him. As in, until he's figured out what to do with the dog. Apparently we've got another case (Scotland Yard finally figured out the other one) where the dog was alleged to have killed his owner. Somehow Sherlock doesn't think it's true.

Scotland Yard needed DNA samples from the dog's coat and somehow we ended up stuck with him in the end. It isn't at all bad, but Sherlock seems oddly fascinated with the dog and it's starting to worry me. Of course we're not going to keep him. Just today it took us about three hours to remember that dogs need water. Poor Max was parched by the time we remembered and set a bowl on the ground for him. I'm not entirely sure what we're going to do with him. Not sure at all.

I suppose we could give him away, but that seems a little bit cruel considering what he's been through. I mean, his owner is dead and all. Yes, he is the prime suspect, but that's beyond the point. Sherlock doesn't think that the dog has anything to do with the death at all. Maybe another dog, perhaps used to cover up wounds sustained in a fight? If we manage to clear his name and get to the bottom of this all, I would think Max would be more than a little traumatized. We'd have to be careful to find him a home… that's nothing like ours, of course.

Sarah's an option, I think. I can't remember if she's allergic to dogs or not though. And isn't that sweet? "Yes, here, I brought you a dog… no, he's not a puppy, but he's a suspect in a murder. Isn't he sweet?"

I'm sure that would instantly convince her to keep him. Right. Anyway, I should probably check on the dog sometime soon. I should check on Sherlock, too. If they're both alive and no harm has come to either of them in the time I've been typing this, I'll be a bit surprised. Then again, we have a case, so neither of them should be bored. Max should entertain Sherlock and vice versa… Oh, who am I kidding? The dog is probably asleep somewhere while Sherlock is going over absolutely everything he knows about the case.

I should probably go help him with that. Not the dog, but the man; help him think. He says I'm an idiot and I don't really help all that much, but I don't think he means all of that. He says what comes to mind without thinking most of the time. No, wait, he thinks about absolutely everything, so that's probably not even possible for him. Either way, there isn't a filter for what he says. If there was, I'm sure he'd find something far more… _constructive_ to call me.

Wait, I have a feeling something's not right. I'd better leave this here and come back to it later. If anything sounds dangerous, it's probably the bang I just heard from downstairs, which was quickly followed by "Max! Damn! John!"

Should be interesting to see what they've gotten into…

JW

_[edited at 6:00pm]_

As I thought. The dog tried to eat something. Sherlock was not happy. Especially considered what the dog tried to eat. Yes, Max tried to make a snack out of Sherlock's prized violin.

Of course, I find it funny, but Sherlock wants to kill something. I guess we all knew he'd get to this point eventually. I think the violin's intact… at least partially. He should calm down soon. In the mean time, though, I'm not leaving my bedroom and neither is Max. We'll let him cause havoc in peace.

I don't think he's noticed that I took his gun when I went downstairs to investigate. We definitely don't need more holes in the walls. It is actually looking interesting, though. Shooting walls, I mean. Then again, right now, Sherlock's more inclined to shoot the dog and anything else that moves.

He's calling me again. I'm not exactly sure if I actually want to answer this time…

JW

_[edited at 7:00pm]_

Don't be silly, John, I wouldn't shoot the dog. If he touches my violin again, though…

Perhaps it would be best to keep the dog upstairs while I think. At least one of us is thinking, anyway.

SH


	6. We Know What We're Doing

**A/N: Another fun chapter to write. :) I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! I'm kind of enjoying having Maximilian in all this... of course he can't stay forever but it's entertaining anyway.**

**I don't own Sherlock. Depressing, isn't it?**

It's the second day of having Maximilian in the apartment. And I was definitely right. Keeping the dog upstairs is safest for all of us. Max is less likely to cause Sherlock to go crazy and destroy things, thus saving me from going insane myself, and saving Max from any harm. It's hard to keep the dog upstairs, especially since he now wants to explore everything. It's hard to keep him in our flat at all, considering the door is always open. More than once we've had to chase the dog down the street, most of those times yelling some interesting words as we went.

Scotland Yard gave us the DNA results. DNA collected from Max didn't match the DNA on the body. This is good, his name is cleared, but we're still stuck with him until we can find him a home. He's starting to grow on me, just a bit. I know better, though; we'd all go mad if we kept the dog here. Even Sherlock would be crying by the end of it all.

So we're back to square one with another mystery: which dog does the DNA on the body belong to? There's no such thing as a dog DNA database (at least, I don't think so). We're trying to get DNA from the dogs that belong to the dead man's friends, colleagues and family. It's not the easiest task, especially since we have to have an excuse to be wherever we are at the time. We've used the excuse "poison control" so many times that I'm starting to believe it myself. Yes, ma'am, we're just doing a routine check on all pets in the area. A man left out mouse poison and we're just checking to make sure no dogs have taken the poison. Yes, ma'am, we know what we're doing. Thanks for your time.

…Right. We're such horrible actors that I'm surprised any of our plans have worked. Surprisingly, though, they have, most of the time. We were thrown out of the house by the best friend of the dead man. Suspicious? Sherlock seems to think so. Problem is, we can't find a motive for him to want to kill his best friend. Not yet, anyway.

Scotland Yard gave us other results, too. What I thought was right for once. About the case, I mean. The man was stabbed repeatedly and the dog's teeth marks were used to cover up the knife wounds. Sherlock seems intrigued by this. I hope he's not getting any ideas. I can sort of imagine him using Max for something like that…

We're not entirely sure what the next step is. Cross that, I meant I'm not entirely sure. Sherlock is always on top of everything, I'm positive he's got something worked out. Something he has yet to tell me about. Oh well, I do need a break. I should probably be sleeping instead of writing this… but considering the racket he's making with his violin, I'm not sure that's a great idea. Even if I fall asleep, there's the problem of Max. If the dog gets out or in trouble again, well, I'd probably be woken to find a missing dog and an extremely angry Sherlock. I've inadvertently made myself Max's saviour and because of that… no sleep for me.

At least he's been quiet the last few hours. Asleep on my bed, just snoring away. Good. The more he's asleep, the less trouble he can get into, the more Sherlock and I can think, and the less chance of something going wrong.

I'll have to be honest with myself. I'm kind of excited about this case. It's gruesome, of course, but it's different. Does anyone normally use dogs, or other animals, to cover up things like this? There was the case where I'd thought it was the cat that had given the woman tetanus, but that wasn't actually the truth at all so it doesn't count. Whoever murdered the man must have been smart, because he almost got Max put down for killing his owner. No one would have checked anything twice if it wasn't for Sherlock getting interested in the case and thinking otherwise. Heck, even I would have thought it was just a case of dog gone bad, and I've spent a lot of time around Sherlock.

Hmm, Sherlock's coming up the stairs. I'm not exactly sure why, but he is reading this over my shoulder so I should probably watch what I type. Hi, Sherlock. There, he's gone again, with my phone in hand, of course. Probably texting another murderer. Better him than me, but either way it's my number he's using. He might just want to invest in another phone entirely because the whole crime world will soon recognize my number too. Most of them probably do already.

It would be kind of interesting to get a text back from the murderer for once. Of course, they'd think I was Sherlock (don't want that to ever, _ever_ happen again) but that's beside the point. Maybe we'd have a nice chat. Learn how each other's minds work… Okay, so I doubt that. They'd probably realize I wasn't Sherlock right away and put a hit on me or whatever. Maybe laugh me all the way to Brixton.

Or Hawaii. Something like that would be nicer than Brixton. I might love Britain, but a vacation does look nice right about now. I'd love to be laughed at if it gave me a chance to go somewhere warm where I'd have no worries for a while.

JW

_[edited at 6:00pm]_

Hawaii? How quaint. And boring. I don't know what I'd do there. But if you're planning to take a vacation, do take Maximilian with you. Or teach him only to eat what he's supposed to.

SH

_[edited at 8:00pm]_

I'm not the one who brought the dog home, you know. And you really could just comment on this, instead of taking my laptop and editing everything I write.

JW

_[edited at 9:00pm]_

That's boring. This is, too, but it's more interesting than commenting. Besides, I could change what you've written and you'd never notice.

SH

_[edited at 10:00pm]_

You wouldn't!

JW


	7. Hide and Seek

**A/N: Yay, another chapter. Enjoy please. **

**I don't own Sherlock, not even a tiny part of it...**

I'm starting to think I need a new password on my computer. However, if anyone wants to know, it _was_ password. No, I'm kidding, even I'm not that dull. I don't think changing my password will help either, because Sherlock's going to guess it either way. Which, as you all could probably tell, he did again last night. I suppose I should just leave it and let him comment as he wants to, though if he edits anything I write instead of putting in his own thoughts…

Anyway, we've had Maximilian for about a week now and we can't find anyone who's willing to take him. He's sweet enough but he seems to have 'search and destroy' programmed into him. Thankfully he's left Sherlock's violin alone, but we're going to have to go look at a new table for the kitchen. That's not the worst thing he could have eaten, but I wish he'd waited for it to be clean and free of Sherlock's odd experiments. As you can probably guess, most of the odd experiments ended up on the floor by the time Max was finished chewing on the leg of the table. Which is bad. I've spent the last two days listening to rants about how finding this and that again will be nearly impossible, or at least will take a lot longer than Sherlock is willing to wait.

We've also invested in a gate. Since eating the table, the dog's locked permanently in my room. He gets fed there, watered there. He only leaves when I forget to put the gate back or I'm taking him for a walk. Yes, he's become my responsibility since we got him. I didn't sign up for this, but obviously Sherlock and dogs don't mix for long. No matter how friendly they seemed to be toward each other when I was first introduced to Max, that friendliness is almost non-existent now. So I guess I'll have to plead with you all. Someone, anyone, please take Max. Take him far away from Sherlock and keep him there.

…I'm starting to think that Sherlock's attitude towards Max is why he hasn't got many friends. He is a bit like this to everyone. Even me. I guess it takes something special to be able to stand it constantly, and even more of that special something to put up with him full-time like I have to. Obviously Max doesn't have whatever that is, or perhaps it's the other way around. Maybe Sherlock doesn't see anything less than irritating in the dog.

Okay, not so true. I actually caught him petting the dog this morning. It was a bit of an odd sight. First of all, Maximilian knocked down the gate. I was afraid he'd eaten something else, or Sherlock had eaten _him_, but instead they were sitting together on the floor. Sherlock dressed in his nightclothes, looking like he'd just woken up (which I'm sure is the truth - he'd have nothing to do with the dog if he wasn't tired). Max just starting at him with those dark brown eyes, rolled over on his back to happily receive the affection.

This is an odd dog. He definitely matches an odd man like Sherlock, but I could never see a happily ever after for them. Which is good, because the case has been solved and now all that needs to happen is a new home has to be found. Could you imagine keeping a dog? _Here?_ Yeah, it's only a little bit short of hell.

As for the case, it was pretty simple. In Sherlock's mind, anyway. As I said before, the dead man (Brandon Thorne) was stabbed repeatedly and bite marks from a dog were used to cover up the wounds. Police and neighbours thought Max went rogue and killed Thorne. Not quite the truth. Sherlock wouldn't go for the theory and did some digging himself. The dog DNA collected from Thorne's body didn't match Max's, but it did match the dog belonging to Thorne's best friend. We found the knife used to kill Thorne in his best friend's house and he was quickly convicted. His dog has been put down as well, as sad as it is.

The only thing we didn't understand at first was the motive, but it soon became clear. Thorne wasn't the sparkling, clean person his family, friends, and colleagues made him out to be. He was stealing money from his workplace to pay off debts. Unfortunately, his best friend found out and demanded a share of the money. The kicker? Thorne wouldn't share. And… well, we all know the ending to this story.

Now that the case is solved, unfortunately we're all bored. Max, me, Sherlock. Which is even more reason to keep Max upstairs, and to hide Sherlock's gun. Both of those things I've already taken care of. And if you're reading this, Sherlock, you know very well why I took your gun. Don't assault me for it when you find it's missing. Thanks.

JW

_[edited at 7:17pm]_

Honestly, John. Give me my gun back. I could go and get it myself but that idiot of a dog is in the way. And no, I did _not_ pet the dog. At all. He isn't deserving of such attention after all he's done.

SH

_[edited at 8:30pm]_

Don't pretend that you don't know where the gun is. You always know. So use your science of deduction and find it yourself. I'll give you a hint: I did not feed it to Max. Yet.

And yes, you _did_ pet the dog. Admit it, Sherlock. Under that tough exterior there's a heart. The dog made you happy. Admit it.

JW

_[edited at 9:00pm]_

Never.

Also, please do make things more challenging. Playing 'hide and seek' with you and my gun was surprisingly easy. Of course I'd check the refrigerator first. You'd think I'd never check there. Unfortunately my gun is rather cold, though. I'll leave it on the counter if you'd like to try hiding it again.

SH


	8. Fortunately and Unfortunately

**A/N: This is a lot shorter than normal. Sorry, guys. But I like this chapter either way and hope you do as well. Enjoy!**

**Also, thanks to those of you who read, review, favorite, and/or alert this. I love you all. :)**

**I don't own Sherlock.**

Someone came to see about the dog today. I'd hate to admit it, but I'm kind of sad. Even Sherlock didn't look so happy about someone wanting to take Max, and I would've never imagined him getting attached to the dog. Or maybe he's going through experiments in his head. Experiments he could do on the dog if we don't give him away soon.

Fortunately _and_ unfortunately, the person didn't take the dog. Shame, I guess. I think they were more interested in meeting us than anything. Not so much me, of course… but that's beside the point. They asked about a thousand questions about Sherlock and I (only one or two did Sherlock actually answer himself, the rest were my responsibility) and barely any about the dog. Whoever it was who visited, please, get better acting lessons or something. We do know you really weren't there about taking Max.

I'm changing my plea. I know I was asking for someone, anyone, to come by and take the dog, but I think I'll have to add specifics to that. Please only come if you're coming about the dog. In all honestly, I don't get much sleep and neither does Sherlock. Neither of us really like being bombarded with questions, especially in person. If you've got questions, put them on his site or my blog. I'm seriously starting to think we need a FAQ or something, because if I get asked 'how old are you?' or 'what's the news on x case?' I will probably curl up in a corner and die.

That actually doesn't sound all that great at all. Max seems to be a fan of curling up in corners, though. I might just try that sometime…

JW

_[edited at 3:00pm]_

John, the dog likes corners. That doesn't mean you require a corner as well. Besides, if you died, how would I find a replacement?

SH

_[edited at 3:33pm]_

Didn't know you cared that much. Thanks for letting me know I'm loved.

JW

_[edited at 4:14pm]_

That wasn't the point and you know it. By the way, I've found my gun again. Please try to hide it somewhere new this time. I'd be quite happy if you'd seal it in cement and suspend it from the window ledge. _That_ would be a challenge.

SH

_[edited at 8:49pm]_

I actually kind of like that suggestion, Sherlock, but I'm not sure of where I could easily get cement. I'm sorry, but you're out of luck on that one. I will try to think of something else, though. To anyone who reads this: suggestions are loved. I'm not exactly doing well hiding Sherlock's gun. He's put a few more holes in the wall. Just after Mrs. Hudson hired someone to fix the wall, no less! I hope he's got the money to pay for the new damage. And the old damage. Hint, hint, Sherlock. I hope you're reading this.

JW

_[edited at 9:30pm]_

Skimmed your post. Didn't really read it all. Boring to say the least. Don't you have something more interesting to write about? Other than everything I do?

SH

_[edited at 1:06am]_

Not really. It's kind of boring around here and you obviously know it. Please tell me Lestrade has a new case for you, or will sometime soon. I'm starting to think I might actually need a job, to keep me from getting as bored as you do.

I actually do have an idea to keep you occupied for a while, though. You should have fun finding your gun for once. I left you a note on the counter where you always leave your gun once you find it. Hopefully it's challenging enough for you.

Anyway, I'm exhausted. I'm not even sure why I'm up. Goodnight, world.

JW

_[edited at 1:15am]_

Found it.

SH

_[edited at 8:00am]_

Damn.

JW


End file.
